From my diary

A busy day.  Up early, and an email brings an enquiry as  to whether the cult of Mithras may have arisen in Commagene — we have no evidence for this –, and invoking the name of Roger Beck.  This obliges me to read Beck’s paper, and write a reply, and then I am disturbed by my cleaning lady who has come in and, finding the curtains still drawn and everything silent and in disarray, wonders if I am lying dead upstairs or something.

Out then to the library to return Ulansey’s book, and to do some tiresome banking chores.  Then back this afternoon, and I do some more proofing on Ibn Abi Usaibia.  Page 767 passes my eye.

Then I notice the date; it is the 8th of December, which means that Christmas cards will need to be sent, and a Christmas letter composed to go with them.  I start writing an account of what I have done this year.  After three pages I become conscious of just how many heavy tasks I have undertaken this year.  In fact it gets a bit depressing, and, not wishing to write a letter of moans and groans, I stop and go down the supermarket.

This time of year is hard on us all.  The days are short, the sun is low, and there isn’t enough light.  The fresh air helps, and I reflect on the amount I have had to do, and the amount I have had to spend on various dull, stressful but necessary tasks, and the way that I tend to fill spare time with tasks.  Time to load-shed, perhaps.

Do you know what?  I think I shall bunk off, and just do nothing for a while.  I don’t commit even to a blog post tomorrow or Saturday.  I suspect that I need some downtime!